dreams that are cruel
by Duilin
Summary: ...are always cruel and will stay that way. Seven chapters told from Maedhros' perspective, as he seeks to escape his dreams and comes to terms that reality is crueler.
1. Maglor

The first thought that came to Maitimo was—_am I dreaming? _Certainly, this had to be a dream. Everything was so light and bright, and colors were too defined for his liking as his eyes contracted to adjust to the assaulting chromatics. He was sure to be asleep or something akin to dead.

"Are you finally awake, sleepyhead?"

Maitimo nearly got whiplash, attempting to turn to the voice. He blinked when he saw it was a simple mouth, talking with no corporeal body, floating in midair and forming a rictus. Its teeth were sharpened to fine points, like canines on a warg. Cautiously, he backed away and found that he had not been lying down, but standing. The world was side-ways. _I am definitely asleep, _he thought to himself, gazing at the mouth. Then, instantaneously, unflattering velvet, dark red blood began to drip down the gums of the mouth. It ran between the small gaps in the teeth as the mouth smiled horribly at him, as if to say, 'I know something you don't.'

He didn't know what possessed him to pick up the nearest object and fling it at the bleeding mouth.

"Now, now, stay your hand," said the mouth, spraying blood everywhere upon pronouncing his esses. "No need to be violent."

"What are you, if not the remnant of a body?" Maitimo replied. "What reason is there to stay my hand when you are presumably dead?"

It tsked. "So are you to disrespect the dead now? I am a mouth, as you can obviously see. A dripping, bleeding mouth." Its smile widened further, causing the lips to split down the middle. Skin separated, and more blood pooled out. But no blood hit the floor.

Maitimo was not going to play any games with any sort of person, and especially not a body part that knew how to backtalk him. "I will not fool around here, Mouth. Where am I?"

"Yes…" mused the mouth. "_Where_ are you? I simply go where you go."

Maitimo threw the rock at the sanguinolent mouth, and the world suddenly righted itself. Without warning, Maitimo was thrown to the grassy floor and a shower of rain—no, _blood_—landed on him. "What witchcraft is this?" he demanded, standing with the intention of doing violence to this…this…mouth.

But the mouth was gone. Maitimo stood there for a while, staring at where the hemorrhaging mouth had been. Then he shook his head and turned around. He found himself facing a town. It wasn't a very exciting town, but it did look more than welcoming for a traveler. Maitimo began to move towards the town and saw that it was closer than the distance gave away. Within the radius of sixty-four strides—he couldn't help but count, though he did not understand why he would do such a time-wasting thing as counting his strides from foot to foot—he reached the town and stepped into the village gates ajar.

"Hail!"

Maitimo silently waited for two seconds before turning around to face the voice. Was it the mouth again? No. It wasn't the mouth, but…

_No. It can't be…_

"Hail," Maitimo said quietly, his eyes widened slightly.

There stood Macalaurë, looking at him oddly. At his right hand. Maitimo shrugged off the odd feeling.

"Have I chanced upon meeting you once before, good stranger?" Macalaurë asked.

"Stranger?" he repeated. "I do not believe I am a stranger. Do you not recognize me? Macalaurë, do you not recognize your own brother?"

Macalaurë's gaze was uncomprehending and a bit contrite. "I am duly sorry, dear stranger. You appear to recognize me, but I do not recognize the name you have addressed me by." He bowed apologetically. "I am called Maglor, actually. I know no one named Macalaurë."

Maitimo forced himself to swallow the unsettling feeling in his stomach and attempted to smile. "Oh, I apologize as well. I suppose I mistook you for someone else."

Macalaurë smiled pleasantly. "Would you like to join me for tea? It is about tea time."

Maitimo shook his head slowly, feeling numb at the fact that his own brother did not know him. "No, I am afraid I will not have enough time to join you for tea. I thank you for your generosity, my friend, but I do wonder. You treat strangers so kindly in this village. Are you, perhaps, the village head?"

Brushing dark hair from his eyes, Macalaurë laughed. "No, I am actually not the village head. Here, in this village, there is no leader."

Maitimo had a bad feeling about this and knew that he would have to get away from this village as soon as possible. But he did not want to leave his brother, whether or not Macalaurë could identify him. "Ah. Well, I must be on my way. I have no idea as to where I am going, but we must part here, where we have met, dear Maglor."

His brother nodded empathetically. "I understand. Many people who pass by have many places to be." His expression was a sort of bittersweet happiness. "They all have left after passing through. I only hope we have guided them the right way."

"Did they stop for tea?"

Macalaurë let out a great sigh. "Only two have today—"

He was interrupted as a loud shriek came from inside a building. Macalaurë whirled sharply to face it, and his expression turned grave. "That was one of our guests who consented to having tea with us…"

Maitimo felt even more discomfited as he gazed at Macalaurë.

He turned back to Maitimo with a blasé expression. "They are always so loud."

His mouth dry, Maitimo tried to form words. "I…must get going."

Macalaurë gave him another smile. "Do come back, stranger." His eyes turned darker and darker, but the smile remained. No longer were the eyes an icy blue, but now an unfathomable pit of black and grey. "There is always time for tea."

Maitimo hastily nodded and started down the street, seeing the exit to the village. He had not the heart to circle around the village, in case he was attacked. He took one look back to gaze at his brother. Macalaurë simply waved, his eyes once again light blue. Maitimo blinked and waved back before turning back around and darting down the path, hurrying to get out of the town as soon as possible. He wasn't going to come back, even if it were his own brother.


	2. Celegorm

"You ran from your brother."

Maitimo growled at the lake as he stared into his reflection. Though he could not see the mouth's reflection, he knew it was there. He sat there on the bank of the lake, glaring at his image in the water. He ignored the mouth.

"He's trapped there, you know."

His fingers curled into fists as he continued to gaze at his mirror. "I know."

"He really did want to have tea with you. Not kill you like the rest of them. He thought he knew you. But you left him."

"Silence your foul words!" yelled Maitimo, turning around and sending a small pebble towards the mouth.

But the mouth simply swallowed it and smiled at him. Though its appearance was slightly more becoming now, as if its skin had regenerated, the flesh had begun to deteriorate again, and soon, the mouth would be a bloody mess. Strangely, it could not been seen in the flat, smooth surface of the lake. Maitimo was convinced that he had been dreaming, but now, he wasn't entirely sure that this was him, in his hallucinating mind.

"You know I am right," said the mouth. Now, the gums were rotting, spotting grey and black like Macalaurë's eyes. "You just do not wish to admit it. Maybe…maybe you will recognize this brother. And maybe, he will recognize you too."

Before Maitimo could dignify that statement with a response, a horse came stampeding into the small clearing with the lake, a wounded rider on its back. As Maitimo turned to look at the horse, he had a feeling that the mouth had disappeared once more. It was a great stallion, glittering white like the snow upon purified mountains. Maitimo could recognize this horse, this mount, as Nahar, Oromë's horse. And the rider who fell from the back of this great beast was…

"Tyelkormo!"

Turcafinwë Tyelkormo looked up dazedly, peering at Maitimo through a brilliant grey eye rimmed with a purple bruise. His left eye had been gouged out, leaving nothing but a red, puffed socket. Maitimo felt sick looking at him. He stumbled forward, shocked, and knelt down next to his brother.

"Tyelkormo," he whispered softly. "Do you…do you recognize me?"

"Mae—timo…"

Maitimo smiled at him gently, disregarding the slight hesitation in the second syllable of his name. "Are you all right?"

_What a stupid question, _he thought. _An idiot could see that Tyelkormo is not all right._

"Yes…I'm…fine," Tyelkormo rasped. "Stay…with me?"

"_Always_," replied Maitimo, feeling tears come to his eyes. "_Always_. But—but, Tyelkormo, stay with _me_. Stay with me too."

Tyelkormo closed his eye with a smile and clasped Maitimo's outstretched hand. "I'll always be there, Maitimo. Always."

"Always?" he asked, his voice reaching a note of hysteria. "Will you always be there?"

Maitimo noticed that Tyelkormo was starting to cry, and what came from his closed eyes were blood. Tyelkormo wiped tears from his blood-stained cheeks, smearing red upon his face as he placed his hand on Maitimo's chest.

"Here," Tyelkormo whispered. "Here."

Maitimo knelt there, rigid as he stared down at his younger brother. He took Tyelkormo's hand in his, ignoring the fact that his face was wet with tears as well, and his tunic had already been bloodstained before Tyelkormo had even touched it, but this blood, it was a pure liquid, light red as Maitimo's hair. And Maitimo… Maitimo couldn't speak. His throat locked, and he stared down at his brother as his tears dripped down onto Tyelkormo's blood-smeared face, mingling with his blood.

Tyelkormo was dead.

_Nahtanyë imnë. I killed myself._

His hand was slack in Maitimo's grasp. Maitimo saw that he had been missing a finger as well, but he had not noticed it before.

He stood and pulled Tyelkormo's body towards the lake, submersing his brother in pure and clear crystalline water. Then, he watched as the water turned red, and his brother's skin was devoid of any red.

And he let Tyelkormo sink into the water, eyes closed.

Then he left the clearing.


	3. Caranthir

"That wasn't nice, leaving your brother there."

Maitimo turned around, angry. "Why are you following me, foul mouth? Your words are vile and I have no wish to harken to them."

The mouth gave him a condescending smile. "It is the question of why are you going where you are going. For where you are going, I must go as well, Maitimo. Do you not remember who you are? Do you not remember? And then…do you not remember me?"

"I am Maitimo. I am the eldest son of Curufinwë Fëanáro. I remember everything that I need to remember," Maitimo replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to walk down a rocky path. He had no idea where he was, but it was away from Macalaurë, away from Tyelkormo, and possibly towards another one of his brothers. "Is there any other thing that I have forgotten, besides being the companion of a bleeding, rotting mouth?"

The mouth didn't seem to be deteriorating any time soon; in fact, as it closed some of the distance between itself and Maitimo, smiling at his father's name, the latter saw that the mouth looked even better than before, as if it had switched a mouth to use its voice.

"You're quite the wit, aren't you?" replied the voice.

If a mouth without a body could appear annoyed, than this mouth was most definitely irritated.

"Well, here's another one of your brothers."

"You need to stop doing that," Maitimo returned, glaring at the mouth.

As if on cue, the mouth started to deteriorate, and Carnistir sprinted across him on the path, dressed in heavy armor. He was being pursued.

"Carnistir!" shouted Maitimo, instinctively running after his younger brother. "Carnistir, wait! Wait! Do you not recognize me? It is I! Maitimo!"

Carnistir turned around, confused. His eyes showed perplexity as he regarded Maitimo. But he did not have the time to exchange formalities with the Elf; he increased his pace and continued to run. But something about the Elf's voice haunted him. He could…he could recognize the Elf's voice, but he couldn't pinpoint who it belonged to.

Maitimo saw them running after Carnistir, and his pace slowed despite his attempting to catch up. Carnistir was going faster and faster, and his pursuers were almost at a loss at Carnistir's speed. Dark shadows, in a swath of cloaks, their skin pale and eyes dark as they chased after his brother. They were astride horses that ran as one with the wind—glided with the wind. Then, one nocked an arrow to its bow.

"No!"

The last of Carnistir that Maitimo saw was his tumbling down into a ravine, eyes widened as he turned his head to look at Maitimo's sudden shout. The arrow protruded from between his shoulder blades, and with a sickening realization, Maitimo saw that there had been a target painted upon the back of his brother's armor. No—it was not even armor. Carnistir wore only upon his torso five tunics in hopes that the arrow's momentum would be impeded by the layers.

"That's the last of the games today," said the dark shadow that had shot his brother. "Perhaps we should head back and see if any more of the pets are willing to play."

Maitimo stared at them, but they paid no heed to them, as if they could not see him.

Another dark shadow chuckled. "I'm afraid this Elf was the fastest that we had captured. His name was Caranthir, right? He was quite unique. Everyone else wants to fight, but this one runs like the wind. Well, he _ran_ like the wind, and then tumbled down that ravine like water."

Fists tightened in fury, Maitimo squared his shoulders and was ready to punch this wraith in the face and inflict serious injury. But then, as soon as he was ready to step forward, the earth beneath his feet crumbled and sent him falling down as a landslide occurred. The shades were whisked away as well by the falling rocks.

And a rock, the size of Maitimo's fist, hit him on the head, blackening his world until the small dots connected and everything faded to nothing.

However, Maitimo could hear it still.

Laughter.

The mouth was laughing at him.


	4. Curufin

"Good morning, o' dear Maitimo, son of Fëanáro," said the mouth, and Maitimo groaned as he shifted on his side.

"Why can you not just leave me alone?" asked Maitimo, cracking open an eye. He found that he was on a pebbled, white riverbank, and his feet were submerged in water. He attempted to put himself into a seating position. "My back hurts."

"Well, you were sleeping on several rocks…"

"Then why does my head hurt as well?"

The mouth smiled at him and swooped close. Maitimo backed away from it, resisting the urge to swat it away. Even if he tried, he had a feeling that his hand would pass right through the mouth—or even worse, the mouth would bite him sharply. The latter was more of a realistic turn of events, but Maitimo wasn't going to do anything of the sort. The teeth looked even sharper than before. No, Maitimo was not an idiot.

"Let's say that rocks hate you," the mouth replied. "Do you remember who you are now?"

"No. I don't. I don't remember who I am, besides who I think I am."

"But Maitimo, o' dear Maitimo," said the mouth, its voice condescending and sweet at the same time, "you cannot forget who you are. You remember your brothers. But one of your brothers told you he was Maglor. You only know your second brother as Tyelkormo. But the shadows told you that your third brother's name is Caranthir. Does it connect? Do you know? Do you remember who you are, Maitimo?"

Maitimo shook his head. "No. I don't remember who I am. I only know those three brothers as Macalaurë, Tyelkormo, and Carnistir. I do not remember what you wish for me to remember. Stop beating around the bush and tell me."

The mouth looked like it wanted to shake its head too and look at him with a disapproving gaze. But it was just a mouth and could only settle for showing it through its tone. "Maitimo, Maitimo, Maitimo. You know I cannot tell you… I am prohibited to tell you. You have to remember by yourself. And when you do, things will make sense again. And I, I will be set free from this place." It smiled at Maitimo again. A horrible, terrible smile. "For where _you_ are going, I must go as well, as long as you do not know who you are."

"I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo, son of Fëanor, and the eldest brother of six," replied Maitimo irritably. "What else do you want me to remember?"

"Look down at your hands, Maitimo," the mouth said, annoyed. Maitimo could tell that he wasn't getting the point. "Look at them."

But before Maitimo could, Curufinwë, son of Fëanáro, emerged from the water. He looked curiously at Maitimo, and all thoughts of Maitimo looking down at his hands vanished. All Maitimo could register was the fact that Curvo, his fourth brother, _Curvo_, was staring at him timidly. Curvo never looked at Maitimo timidly, not even shyly or sheepishly. Maitimo felt awkward, staring back. And oddly enough, around Curvo's neck was some sort of...laceration, as if it had been separated from the shoulders and then forced back on.

"Who are you?" asked Curufinwë, his eyes showing befuddlement. His voice was even slightly quavering.

Maitimo smiled at him gently. "I am Maitimo. I am your brother. Remember?"

Curufinwë shook his head, but his eyes widened once he stared past Maitimo. "Then…what is that?"

Maitimo turned around. And his mouth turned into a grimace as he saw the mouth itself, bits of flesh coming free, like pulling strings apart.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked the mouth pleasantly.

Curufinwë looked faintly frightened, and Maitimo knew something was wrong. Curufinwë backed away into the water, and his body floated away on wisps before Maitimo could even move. Dully, Maitimo realized that this had been his brother's ghost. But Maitimo noticed that he couldn't move. His leg, with the breeches covering it torn open, was laced with bruises. It had undoubtedly been abused by the rocks when the avalanche occurred. He stared at the river. Then, he gathered his senses and glared at the mouth.

"You scared my brother away!" Maitimo shouted.

The mouth ignored his shout. "Look down at your hands, Maitimo. Look down at your hands."

Maitimo looked down at them. His left hand was perfectly normal. Then, he turned his gaze to his right.

Or…rather…his lack of a right hand.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered in horror.

"Not what I did to you, Maitimo. What _you_ did to yourself."

His right arm ended at a stump, at his wrist. "What happened to me?"

"Answer that question, Maitimo, and we'll both be free," replied the mouth. "Think about it."

And the mouth finally disappeared.


	5. Amrod and Amras

Walking without the mouth pestering him was odd. Strange. He didn't feel very sane without it, but he certainly did not want it to come back.

As Maitimo walked, he passed by a large gate. It was not modest from any angle and appeared to belong to a giant city. Upon closer inspection, Maitimo noted that the gates bore no resemblance to the gates of Macalaurë's village. No, this was the gate of a giant city, only appearing to be petty from far away where one could not properly see it. Something felt familiar about this place, as if Maitimo had been here before. Maybe he had. Maybe he had walked past it.

He decided to explore the city. When he entered the gates, he saw that a festivity was being held. The city was emblazoned with yellow, a joyous, happy color that made Maitimo's spirit lighten up. At last, he was peace without that mouth following him. Many people passed him, gazing at his red hair suspiciously. He ignored their gazes and walked on, feeling determined to remain undisturbed.

But this feeling of undisturbed peace did not last for long. It held out until he caught up with the procession at the intersection of two streets. Maitimo met them at the middle of the marching line. He turned to look at the end and found nothing particularly exciting, but only frowning, somber faces. They did not appear to be happy. This wasn't a festivity.

He merged into the line, hoping that his action would go unnoticed. He was a bit curious as to what was going on, but he knew it certainly was not a celebration in the city.

"Hey, Amrod, look. It's Maitimo."

Maitimo slowly allowed his head to turn until he was at last facing the twins. The two of them were lugging logs behind them, their arms tied—no, _nailed_—to another log bound perpendicular to the first. He saw that they were carrying crosses. The only two carrying their own crosses.

The twin who had spoken smiled at Maitimo. "Hey, Nelyo," he said cheerfully. "What are you doing here in Himring?"

Blinking, Maitimo reiterated, "Himring?"

"Pityo, that's what you called it, right?" said the twin to Pityo.

Pityo nodded and gazed at Maitimo. His eyes narrowed. "You are not Maitimo." Upon his eldest brother's confused gaze, Pityo frowned. "Not anymore, anyway."

Maitimo felt pain assault him blindly in his head. He was trying to remember something. He was trying to… He was…

"Maitimo, you need to get out of Himring. You still have time to get away from here, if you so please," said Telvo seriously. "We're being executed, and if they see your resemblance to us, they might go after you too."

"Your own people," added Pityo. Maitimo felt a sharp pang once more.

"My people?" Maitimo said blankly. "I know not a single one of those present here. And why are you to be executed? Have you done something greatly wrong?" He could not imagine the twins committing any serious sin; just playing mischievous pranks like the little devils they were.

Telvo smiled again. "We are being accused of witchcraft and treason, apparently," he answered, as they moved along slowly in the march.

"We're not even witches," complained Pityo. "Wizardry would fit it more. But, Maitimo, if you are willing to remember, I could tell you who you really are now."

"Am I not Maitimo, your brother?" he asked.

The twins shook their head. "You are Maitimo, our brother," they replied in unison. "But you have forgotten who you truly are."

"Who am I?" His voice was frustrated.

Telvo regarded Maitimo sadly. "Were you not the one who told us that the Oath came before everything, even ourselves? Were you not the one who led us after Father died? Were you not the one who took the Silmaril with you to the deepest pits of fire, where not even great dragons could melt your soul? Were you not the one who left Maglor to continue to live on as a wanderer on the shores of Beleriand, which has sunk now?"

Maitimo was silent, and Telvo fell silent as well. But Pityo's gaze, as he regarded his eldest brother, held no mercy. "You are Maedhros, Lord of Himring, son of Fëanor, and a Kinslayer, like the rest of us."

"I see it now," Telvo said simply, as they reached the end of the march into the main square of the city. "I see the fire, and it's burning bright." His smile widened into a grin, and Maitimo was reminded of the mouth. "Are you ready, Amrod?"

Maitimo was held back as the twins were taken to a section of the floor strewn with bales of hay. Their crosses were dug into the straw and secured in place. The two made no attempt to escape, though Maitimo knew their strength was enough to break the logs apart if they willed it.

"Remember who you are," said Pityo. "And remember us too."

"I'll never forget—" Maitimo stopped himself. "Wait! Halt! I am Lord of Himring! Stop this!"

Pityo—Ambarussa—Amrod gave him a look that clearly said, 'You have no power here. Futile.'

An Elf turned to answer his plea. "Lord Maedhros, who is in his chambers currently, sanctioned this act. There is no denying his orders when he has ordered his brothers to the death. After all, he sent his brother Lord Celegorm to hunt for a Silmaril, gave his brother Lord Caranthir to the shadows, and brought Lord Curufin to the tower to be beheaded by his affirmation. Why would he stop here?"

A torch was brought forth, and Maitimo watched in a defeated horror as it was tossed onto the hay.

"Feels nostalgic," mused Telvo. He turned to Amrod. "What was my name again?"

Amrod laughed at him. "It was Amras, I believe."

Amras made a strange face. "What an odd name."

They both turned to look at Maitimo, and his blood ran cold at their gazes.


	6. Maedhros

He was walking along some sort of a road. A path. But he wasn't sure where he was going now. His eyes could have been closed, for all it mattered, but it was his ears that remained alert and waiting for that familiar voice.

"Do you remember now?"

Maedhros smiled. "Yes. I remember. I remember all of it. I was actually waiting for you." He turned and saw the mouth. It was as if the mouth hadn't destroyed itself four times before his eyes. "I was waiting, because I wish to speak with you," he said slowly, as if afraid that if he, so fragile and unstable, spoke too fast, he would shatter like delicate glass. But he was anything but any sort of delicate glass.

The mouth pursed its lips slightly in question. "What is it?" The mouth opened. "...You are oddly dressed. With a sword and armor."

"Take me to my father," said Maedhros simply, resting his palm against the pommel of his sword.

It smiled back at him. "But we are already here, and you have come to your senses."

"Why…" he asked, drawing out the syllable, "did you bring me here then? To this world where I am somehow real without existing?"

Curufinwë Fëanáro materialized as he gazed at his son. Slowly, his body appeared, from a transparent wind to a translucent, semi-worldly physique. His eyes were dark grey, like Maedhros', and his hair was the mirror of night at its peak of darkness. His long robes swept past his feet, billowing out away from him as his form finally congealed. Fëanáro scrutinized his son under a calm, disinterested gaze.

"You?"

"Yes," his father said quietly. "I."

"You were the mouth?" Maedhros questioned, feeling a cold feeling rise in his stomach.

"No, the mouth was a part of me," Fëanáro replied, stepping forward and circling Maedhros like a predator would circle its prey. Maedhros could not believe this had been his father. "But it is not a complete branch of me."

"Curufinwë Fëanáro, you…my father…plagued me with the visions of my brothers?"

Fëanáro smiled cryptically. "I am not your father, dear Maitimo."

"Stop tormenting me with your riddles and tricks!" Maedhros exclaimed. "Who are you but my father, fair stranger, if you have taken upon his form?"

Raising his arms out as if to embrace Maedhros gently, Fëanáro looked down upon him and Maedhros felt weak and weary. "Who am I, indeed, but the one who sends you these visions, Maedhros? I seek to give you eternal rest. I cannot leave until I give you this, but you must seek it yourself. You can seek eternal rest for yourself, can you not?" He spoke to Maedhros as one would speak to child. "Young one, I am Lórien, but referred to among the Valar as Irmo."

His voice was gentle now, lowering to accommodate Maedhros' frail conscious.

"Námo brought five of your brothers back from the dead, and I sent the six of them to see you, Maedhros, but as you knew, three of them did not recognize you."

"Five brothers?" Maedhros echoed.

His father—no, it was Lórien. Lórien looked pitying as he embraced Maedhros gently. "You have wandered the Halls far too long, Maedhros. But yes, only five. Fëanáro's second eldest son is still living."

Maedhros felt hope, but this was crushed as Lórien sighed.

"He is constantly beleaguered by the deaths of all of his family. Galadriel will most likely not consent to see him, and he dares not stride into the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond to visit his foster-son again lest someone from the First Age recognize him and attack him on the spot. Maedhros…he has lost everything but his voice. And now, no one will listen except those keen enough to harken to his mourning. His everlasting mourning."

Feeling Maedhros' inundating sorrow, Lórien tilted his chin up and smiled at him. "He forgives you, Maedhros. He forgives you because he loves you. And if he hasn't yet, then he will when he sees you again."

"I sent them all to their deaths," Maedhros answered emptily, raising his hand to clutch at the robes of his father's body. "Why? Was it necessary to be so cruel as to torment me with the memory of my family?"

"You must remember who you are, Maedhros," Lórien replied. "You cannot forget. Memory is important. And if you can find it in you to recall those old memories, past occurrences, then maybe you could move on as well. I am here to help you move on. I am here to help you bring yourself to eternal rest." Lórien leaned close and whispered in Maedhros' ear, causing Maedhros to close his eyes in tiredness. "You are so close to it, child. Just step beyond further. If you admit it."

Maedhros' eyes shot open. "Lord Irmo," he said, pulling back and blinking. "It cannot be so simple."

Lórien chuckled, a light, clear laugh that brought up many bent flowers in the wind to listen. "It is not simple, Maedhros. Russandol. Maitimo. Nelyafinwë. Can you really bring yourself to acknowledge what you have been avoiding for several bicentenaries?"

Lowering his gaze, he shook his head. "It has already been that long?" he asked softly.

"Poor child," said Lórien. "What kind of world have you known up until today?"

"A world where the Oath came before everything."

"Then leave that world, Maitimo. Leave that world, and come with me. Come with us."

Suddenly, all of the Valar appeared behind Lórien, their images slightly faded and translucent, but visible nonetheless. And as Lórien extended his hand, the other Valar did the same, and Maedhros watched, awestruck, as they all stood there patiently for him, waiting for him.

"You can finally come home, Nelyafinwë," said Varda, smiling kindly at him. "Return to our guidance, child."

Lórien tilted his head, as if waiting for Maedhros. "Just say the words. It is only a small chasm that you can jump over, Maedhros. Just say the words."

Maedhros bowed, tears coming to his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. They dripped onto his hands, and he found that it was red. He was crying tears of blood, and as he stood once more, he left his tears to dry on his cheeks as he stepped forward to Lórien. Then, he whispered in the Vala's ear those words that he had once thought when looking at his brother Tyelkormo, and everything went dark.


	7. Soaring

He was soaring through the sky, free. His soul was free.

And, he thought to himself:

_Nahtanyë imnë._

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's it, folks. I admit: my brain is messed up.<strong>

**Here is the only translation that you'll need:  
><strong>Quenya:

Nahtanyë imnë. - I killed myself.

It was formed from 'nahta' which means 'to kill' and the past tense of kill, which is 'nahtan', and the pronoun suffix 'nyë' signifying 'I', coupled with the reflexive pronoun 'imnë_.'_

Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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